Page 10 of In Every Lifetime
That article led me to Goldie, one of the subjects Oliver had interviewed while researching the piece. The two had barely spoken, but he had left a card with our office address, which at the time happened to be my apartment.
She showed up at my door in a pair of combat boots that were falling apart, her long black hair soaked through from the rain, but a fire in her eyes that was impossible to miss. I hadn't known it then, but she was only fifteen when she started working for me, having told me she was eighteen instead. I knew she was young and had no formal education, but she had a natural instinct for computers and research. I found out her real age a couple of years later, on the eve of her actual eighteenthbirthday. She had always kept a wall between us, but she had been family to me from the start.
The three of us worked tirelessly side by side for years, bringing the journal to new heights. We were respected, yet unknown. I knew I wanted another journalist to bring a fresh voice and perspective, but after months of searching, I couldn't find anyone who fit.
Then I met Jackie James.
I was driving home from an AA meeting when I spotted a young woman lying on a street bench. I confirmed her age straight away this time, and when she told me she was in her twenties, I took her home. Her blonde hair was matted with what I assumed was her own vomit, her skin clammy, her golden brown eyes untrusting. It took me less than an hour to recognize she was an addict like me, and another hour after that, when I found her rifling through my kitchen cabinets, to realize her addiction was to alcohol too.
I couldn't help but want to protect Jackie. I had been in the same position once, arriving in a new city with an addiction I hadn't yet faced and no family to fall back on. I could admit my help wasn't purely for her. It was also for me, to be the savior I had needed as a child.
Sarah and I helped Jackie find her footing. I could see demons swirling deep within her, remnants of a past she hadn't yet made peace with, and I wanted to give her the same second chance Sarah had once given me. I helped Jackie get sober, helped her find a job at the local library, and slowly earned her trust.
One night, I was deep in an edit of an upcoming issue, working through an article Oliver had written, lost enough in it that I hadn't noticed Jackie peering over my shoulder. Those brown eyes of hers had a habit of seeing into my soul more clearly than anyone else could, better than I could myself at times.
"You need to re-interview her. She's hiding something," Jackie said, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin.
"Goddamn it," I mumbled. "Announce yourself next time, why don't you?"
She waved me off with a smile. "Seriously, she's hiding something. Send Oliver back."
I'm not sure why, but I listened. It turned out to be good advice. I didn't send Oliver. I went myself. Jackie had been right. The young woman believed to be the victim of a stalker was, in fact, the stalker herself, harassing over a dozen individuals. Not only had Jackie sensed the woman was hiding something from a transcript alone, she had inadvertently solved an open case.
I hired her on the spot, and she had taken to the team instantly. Goldie was enamored, Oliver had found a new best friend, and I had found another family member. The four of us did the unexpected. With Goldie's research skills, Oliver's writing, Jackie's instincts, and my leadership, Fibonacci Files became a respected academic journal, praised by nearly everyone in the field.
With that success came growth, and we quickly outgrew our small office and went searching for a new one. The building we eventually chose had exposed brick walls, expansive windows, and a feeling of history. It was perfect, and there were weeks I had spent more time here than at my own home.
This office, whose walls still bore photographs I had taken, filled with décor I had chosen and paid for, worn from years of use, no longer felt like home. It now housed many of my regrets, ones I was forced to face every day.
Jackie and Oliver haunted my days. No longer friends, just reluctant employees. They still believed in the journal and loved their work, but they avoided me.
Not that I blamed them. They were just two more names on a long list of people I had wronged.
I loved my work, and I had spent the last six months trying to be the owner and leader I had always wanted to be. It helped that I was sober enough to pay the bills on time and no longer relying on Goldie to pick up my slack. She had been practically running the company while I was at my worst, but it was time I stepped back up and found my love for the work again.
I was back to filing taxes, managing business registrations, and processing payroll. Goldie continued to handle the majority of editing and arranging of each issue, but final approval remained with me. It was the best compromise we could reach.
"Knock knock." Goldie leaned into the doorway, and her eyes went wide. I was on the floor surrounded by open boxes, papers scattered everywhere from my search for the birth certificate. "Do I even want to ask what happened here?"
I sighed and looked around. "Probably not," I mumbled, standing and stepping carefully through the chaos back to my desk. "What can I do for you?"
She held up a stack of papers. "Expense reports. I need you to sign off on them."
"Hand them over," I said, extending my hand. I worked through the stack, scanning each page briefly before signing. Travel was a constant with our work, all four of us traveling frequently for research, and with that came a mountain of expense reports.
Goldie glanced at the stacks of papers on the floor. "Do you ever get rid of anything?" she asked, amused, picking up a loose page. "Is this a bill from twelve years ago? Why do you still have this?"
I shrugged and kept signing.
"He's a hoarder. Always has been," Jackie said from the doorway. She didn't make eye contact with me, giving me the cold shoulder as she always did these days. It was rare that I could catch her gaze, and when I did, I wished I hadn't.
Goldie glanced between us, the tension thick enough to cut. She was caught in the middle at work, living with me, having been my entire support system through this stretch of sobriety, while Jackie was one of her oldest friends, and I was not Jackie's favorite person at the moment.
I was willing to admit the rift between us was completely my fault. I had apologized for it. But some cuts run deep enough to leave a permanent scar, and I hadn't just cut Jackie. I had rubbed salt in the wound before it could even begin to heal.
Her life had been falling apart five years ago. She was unearthing painful details about her family and her past, and instead of supporting her, I pushed her away. I threw away our friendship without a second thought. I had told myself at the time it was to protect her. She had just started seeing Will, and I didn't like them together. In some misguided attempt to play the father figure, I had tried to keep them apart. It was stupid and selfish, and I could see that now. But at the time I was drinking, terrified Jackie would find out, and already starting to spiral.
The thing was, Jackie would have forgiven me if I had said any of that when it happened. She had a big heart and a willingness to accept people's faults that most people didn't possess. My problem was that I had kept up the act of pushing her away for years.
